…that anyone has ever done for me was sing me a song. It was a cover of a tune that he’d sent before. Guster – Satellite. I’d been hassling him on and off for a while to record him singing. Finally, he either gave in or was just absolutely sick of my nagging and so obliged. We weren’t dating, I only had the slightest notion that he somewhat fancied me… I think? But it was just the best feeling to know that someone was kind enough to make my day that way. It was really sweet.
One of the other nicest things that anyone had done for my was when he apologised for hurting me after everything was said and done. It felt good knowing that someone cared enough about me to try to right any wrong that had been done regardless of fault. That someone valued me enough to honour our friendship, to straighten things out and tie up whatever loose, frayed ends remained.
Watching my family fall apart piece by dysfunctional piece. Feeling the reality settle in again that nothing, no nothing, is permanent. Everything fades. And it seems that when it’s down to the wire, everyone is the same and there is no escaping disappointment.
If this is human nature, the cycle of things, then why bother at all. Nothing lasts forever. No one seems to love forever. It’s all a selfish act and instant gratification seems to previal in the end. Consequences are never considered until its too late.
I reckon I should be thankful my process started and ended in only the fraction of a life time. Lessons learned and burns slowly heal if you stay away from the flames. How are you suppose to believe in something that you’ve never seen except on silver screen. I don’t want to become anything I’ve known. But what else is there.
If nothing else, I can thank you for hurting me enough to give me something to write about.
They say success is the best revenge, though I reckon it can be a complement as well. As it’s the result of someone forcing you to grow and be better than you were, if you choose to react accordingly. I can be better, do better, act better, and live better than I was when we were us. I dont see another way or choice. So I suppose I should thank you for twisting the knife deep enough to make me want do whatever it takes to not be here/there again.
“Time heals all wounds.”
Time is a subjective & relative theory of consciousness that doesn’t really exist, some placebo to facilitate order from chaos. Wounds heal when they heal.
I wish you could see you’re nothing breathing.
I wish you could see you’re not living.
Stuck instead inside your head, trapped within four walls.
This merry-go-round has broken down and your heart is barely beating.
Tragic, manic, pathetic, and I find it hard to give sympathy when we know we both see what you’re doing consciously.
I feel for you deeply, but I cannot be had like a fool any longer when it was all an act, an elaborate facade that never anchored in reality. Done.
It was picture perfect. Still images floating around in the ether waiting to be plucked by my consciousness one by one. Drawing on memory in an infinite search to find respite from what the days bring so often. It all became over exposed and under developed towards the end, and the last roll never made it out of the negatives. Some things you just have to write off as a lost cause and let go. But it would have been such a beautiful sight had it turned out alright.
You’re such a fucking cunt. And you’re even more of a cunt because act like you don’t care. And you’re even MORE of a cunt because you DO care and you completely lack the maturity, “balls”, or courage to act an adult and speak in person, or even direct without any sort of ambigious middle man. Cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt. You’ve hurt me and I’m rather furious, I’m rather angry, and I think your such shit for how you’ve been acting. Your lack of action. But empathy flows deep within these veins and apparently I’ll be damned to a life of compassion for your shortcomings and weaknesses before I’m able to cast you aside. And because of all that I, at least for now, consider you an absolute cunt. Yet I still snuggle with a stuffed panda. Cunt.
I’m terrified at the thought of doing nothing with my life, ergo I compensate in an attempt and irrational need to overachieve at everything I pursue.
In certain situations I seem to drive myself into the same head on collision that I just recovered from, avenging my own demise and resurrection with the vow that I’d never do it again… of course until the next time. And just when the dust begins to settle and the state of things returns to whatever I once considered “normal,” another gust of wind emerges from under the rug to serve as a reminder of what I’ve tried so hard to keep buried below and forget.
Nothing ever stays below the surface. Truth has the buoyancy of helium, akin to the innocence of a child’s birthday balloon. It often escapes the careless grasp and floats every so methodically to the surface. Up, up and away; out of reach, beyond control.
I curse myself for the blind eye I turned over and over in my head. One cheek upon the next; willing to revolve as if programmed to accept the abuse. It smarts. Tearing flesh and organ from wherein sentiments and a heart used to lie. Vacancy in the eyes and a hollow sounding tone resonate from within memory and I grasped into the darkness partially expecting nothing but so often attempting to find you in the void; shrouded in secrecy within the cruel game of hide and seek.
Searching for order within the chaos and method to the madness only to come to the conclusion that it was nothing more than a role play fantasy bred in the safety net of cyberspace where you can be anyway you chose and nothing really matters nor has repercussions. So much cooler on-line
One should not go through their sent email that dates back to the beginning of August 2009. It is full of memories and emptiness.
It’s not becoming of the ego to be reminded of how hard you tried when the end result is that it all felt apart in spite of earnest efforts and tenacity. Reading line by line over these extensions of self and emotion is like walking a calculated and deliberate line to where you’ll lay your head to rest upon the guillotine. Even though you now know how sharp the blade is and how deep it will cut, each step makes its way closer; back in time from the beginning until you reach yourself on the cusp of the present moment. And it’s a sickening addiction because it lingers in the air, stifling any respite that the vacancy would create. Your silence gains purchase on the cracks in my chest as it holds on for any light that might be left.
Is the worst time. Ever. It’s the cavernous line between far too late and way too early, and neither one is lesser evil. It brings with it the overwhelming sense of powerlessness that engulfs the body in the dark, wrapping the mind in a veil of anxiety that I can never seem to shake. The red glowing digits on the clock resemble demon eyes staring back at me as I watch another minute of my life creep by slowly, only to be extinguished by the next. Painfully slow. This is when the thoughts come in magnificent waves crashing against my conscious. Their presistence is only muffled by the sound of the sheets that I move over my head as if to fend off their attack. 3:30am is too late to finish anything that’s been started (not that I finish most things I start anyway), and too early to begin anything new. 3:30am is a stalemate of everything but the overworked psyche that never ceases.
A year ago today was the first time I touched your face, the first time I smelled your skin, and the first time I was wrapped up in your embrace. I am still able to draw upon these memories with vivacious fondness, as if it was reality only moments before. Stepping off the plane and walking down the gate, thats when it hit me. “This is real,” I thought to myself as I was overcome with an electric shock that resembled a strange juxtaposition of terror and joy. You were clad in a white shirt, white shoes, white cap and thin jeans. When I spotted you watching me, I walked up, bravely kissed you & sheepishly said “hello” all the while I could feel my skin flushing red.
In the truck (because you never called it what it was, it was always a truck) my hand found it’s way into yours and suddenly being stuck in DC traffic on a humid July afternoon wasn’t nearly as bad. The stuffed panda that you surprised me with (who still has no name) sat in my lap and pacified the anticipation that my mind would wrap itself up in. But I was not nearly as nervous as I thought I might have been.
After the thunder & lightning calmed, we layed in bed at the Westin; naked & vulnerable. The lamps cast a warm glow throughout the room & we decided that we both wanted our house to be decorated in modern hotel-style decor. “It feels like we’ve known each other forever, it’s so comfortable” you commented and leaned into me to rest your head upon my shoulder. We spent the rest of the night wrapped around each other under the sheets, ruminating over simple matters, inciting laughter, and sharing invaluable moments of silence. You feel asleep with your arms around me and your face nuzzled into the nape of my neck. I could feel your chest rise and fall against me as the sound of your breathing lulled me into safety and dreams.
My memorandum of scattered dreams: We stood in front of the freshly painted wall, under a bridge behind a chain link fence. SEIR stretched across the landscape of cement before us. “Heartbreaker” cut through the organic curvature of the letters, as if it were etched deep within the flesh of my ribs with a serrated blade spited with salt. His arms wrapped around my body pulling me close as he rested his chin upon my shoulder, kissing my cheek. Feeling weightless in my head was counterbalanced by the the heaviness in my chest that made me short of breath. He began to explain to me how it was some round-about fucked-up term of endearment, and that he truly did love me. I remember colors, and feeling loved, bits and piece of our fragmented past flashed around amicably in my head. I woke up warm and content, then felt the slow chill of reality settle in upon the realisation that it was once again just a dream.
What I should have done was go to bed hours ago but here I am up with my thoughts, invading my personal space. What I should have done was come straight home, but sometimes I’m happy to have felt this way; the sudden shock of life. Some days I’m happy to have been at this mercy of my emotions. Sometimes I feel that it’s all a part of progress… and I’ll probably erase this in the morning. Delerious with sleep and Tuesdays call to arms…
it’s a sad war when the only one you’re fighting is yourself. World viewed sideways. I lay down, no contest, it’s an uphill battle and I’ve relenquished my hold. Finding it futile to attempt to gain purchase on a heart that’s been worn smooth by years of abuse. One more pill, one more pull off the bottle, and we all end up down, down, down in the same black hole. Together as one, but always alone. Anxiety, complacency, twisting knives and no feelings. Apathy, monotony, My wrists wring rotten, this vile grip, and we jump off the deep end.
I think I might have said to much, but I leveraged the conversation with a guilty admission from the other end of the line. I hold the cards, I have written the lay of the land, at least for now. But these saline stained cheeks can’t help but hide an apprehension that comes with entertaining the idea of of your volatility. An understanding of the subtle and profound impact you have on the homeland of my heart and psyche… this is a fragile game we play, I see your pawns still stay the course. Don’t faulter in guard, or rather, please do, and maybe I’ll get a chance to see your soul naked in front of all that you must constantly prove you are. 85, just one number shy of your own demise, but I held on for you even when you were losing grip, I traced the small of your back and kissed your neck when the thoughts weighed you down too much to lift your head. Thanks be to me as a bullet to the brain; a viper repays kindness with a vicious goodbye kiss filled with venom, numbs the skin until reality sets in. Awakening alone, bleeding on the ground. I think I might have said too much but I doubt anyone will recognize my words in the morning. I have one hand on the scale and one hand holding a bleeding heart. Whispers, sun rising… I feel them too.
I travel across the earth to leave this all behind
Fresh faces crowd my view but old memories latch tight.
Relentless like a wolf hot on the trail of blood, it seems to find me.
Before we were anything, you were still a piece of everything.
A pathetic excuse for a whisper in my ear, and the piano rolls on into the night.
Leaving a trail of empty memories and weightless promises in its wake.
Pyramids get you closer to god, but never any closer to you.
Dragging myself over your coals for no apparent reason at all..
85 days ago I still thought that you loved me. So says the notes in my phone. What a fool I was to think you could give enough of yourself away to add up to something of consequence. And now I am sitting in an Irish pub in Luxor, Egypt with you perpetually pacing my mind. I saw the pyramids of Giza, and remembered how you told me you wanted your photo there. I am seeing the world the way you wanted to come along, and we’re not speaking now but I’ll still bring you back some alabaster just to show you that I care even though you’re very upset with me over something I didn’t do…
I wonder if you think of me too. You keep me up at night. I see the sun set west over the Nile river towards Baltimore and I won’t let you know this ever, but I wish it would carry me to your doorstep. Pathetic, and without any idea of what I’ll say when you see me.
I should probably figure that out… I’m slightly tipsy at this point. But I’ll keep on drinking. Because the train right back to Cairo is cold and unpleasant; if I don’t sleep I’ll eventually think of you. So I’m going to have another beer. Egyptian Stella
They often say to not let your thoughts run away with you. But the curse of an active mind is such that resistance is often short lived when it comes to the demons in my head. Memories creep from under the bed and skeletons make their way from the closet to speak to me softly as I sleep only to wake and spit out your name. The screen brings relief from a mind tired of aimless yet purposeful wandering. A sullen expression that might seem so hard to read but I see through you so easily.
Sitting in front of telephone pole #1374848 for the past half hour, feeling the sun set across my face. By the train tracks trying to avoid you, but looking for you at the same time. I try to run from the thoughts in my head but they follow me relentlessly like sharks to chummed water. And if I could just calm my head for a moment I’d be okay but these thoughts come one after another, breaking upon my consciousness like waves onto the shore. Persistent and determined to remind me with each pulse they create. I can feel my heart beating heavy and see my fingers trembling on the steering wheel that I’m pathetically holding on to as if it will bring some sort of salvation, a cure for this disease. Cheeks are hot with sunlight and saline. I find myself holding breath as it stays my mind but only momentarily, because at some point I have to take another and feel it all again.
You’ll be the reason my mascara runs tonight/ Henny at bar, hiding alone in dim light
—
There are places you don’t come to anymore, but you still fit through the spaces in between. It’s never silent in here with these thoughts, and everything I did to keep it from getting in just made it so you can’t get out. Creeping quietly behind my eyes where everything I see reminds me of the warmth you used to bring. So I spend my time in the company of friends and strangers, where my mind always slowly drifts back to you and I feel empty and alone all over again. I shouldn’t feel like this, because I can’t fix what you’ve broken.
If you can hear me, this hurts, and it’s uncomfortable, and I have no choice but to press on, but I don’t like it, and your face is ghost, and your skin lingers, and I am angry, and I’m hurt, and I’m sad…